


Finders, Keepers

by DizzyDrea



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: F/M, Reunions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching Dr. Charles Eppes in his natural environment is always fun, and for once, she’s going to enjoy the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Numb3rs_Het](http://numb3rs-het.livejournal.com/) Summer Challenge, Prompts: Crush, Washington DC, Take-out, Find
> 
> My original idea for this challenge was to write a series of drabbles. The Muse disagreed, and won't you be glad that she did. Instead of 1200 words, you get better than 5k! I don't want to spoil anything here, but suffice it to say that the Muse is simply inspired by Charlie/Liz, and this is the result. Many thanks to Sororcula for hosting the challenge and giving us such wonderful prompts to work with.
> 
> Disclaimer: Numb3rs belongs to The Barry Schindel Company, Scott Free Productions, CBS Television Studios and a lot of other people who aren't me. I'm doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

Liz Warner hates being late, and yet here she is, jogging down the hallway, about to be late to a seminar she'd voluntarily signed up for. She glances at her watch as she turns the corner, classroom door finally in sight.

_Damn._

She skids to a halt in front of the closed door and takes a few deep breaths. No need to call more attention to herself by charging in huffing and puffing. She’s supposed to be a Senior Field Agent, not some wet-behind-the-ears rookie out to make an impression.

Finally feeling calmer, if no less embarrassed by her tardiness, she turns the doorknob as quietly as she can and slips inside the classroom. Head down, clutching her iPad to her chest, she settles into a chair in the back row.

One more deep, steadying breath, and she opens her folio and pulls out her pen, ready to take notes. A familiar voice floats out over the crowd, and her head shoots up, eyes latching on to a face she knows so well.

For a moment, the whole world disappears, and it’s just her and the presenter. He's stopped mid-sentence, eyes wide as he recognizes her, too. Then, his professionalism takes over and he returns to his lecture, barely missing a beat.

The same can’t be said for Liz.

She fires up her iPad and pulls up the confirmation email for this seminar. Sure enough, the name on the course syllabus is Dr. Lyman Hall. Clearly, this isn’t Dr. Hall standing in front of her.

She shakes her head, oddly excited and discomfited at this turn of events. There isn’t anything she can do at this point but sit and listen to the lecture. It isn’t like she doesn’t know the material. She's had an up-close and personal view of _Mathematics as an Investigative Tool_ for years out of the Los Angeles Field Office. She knows how valuable math can be in solving even the toughest cases. But she'd decided to take the seminar anyway, figuring it will look good on her CV when she eventually—finally—tries for Special Agent in Charge. 

Clearly, fate is laughing its ass off right about now, because the last person in the world she'd ever expected to see teaching this class is standing in the front of the room, scribbling like mad on the white boards stretching the length of the wall. 

She tries to follow what he’s saying—and it isn’t all that hard, really. He's been dumbing down the math for the Violent Crimes Unit for years now, and she'd like to think that in all that time she's learned a thing or two. But seeing him, the light in his eyes, his love of all things math evident in the enthusiastic way he speaks, brings it all back.

Her eyes scan the room, taking in the other students. Some of them are slouched in their seats, clearly bored stiff, and she has to wonder why they’re here if they aren’t interested in the subject matter. There are others who are taking notes, some writing as fast as their enthusiastic professor, the expression on their faces that of a student afraid he'll miss something if he stops prematurely. Others just sit watching raptly, letting the lecture wash over them as they soaked up everything.

Liz's eyes drift back up to the front. He’s watching her, mirth dancing in his eyes. She raises an eyebrow, drawing a smile and a wink from him. She doubts anyone else saw it, but she darts her eyes away, unable to control the blush she feels suffusing her cheeks. It feels like getting caught daydreaming in high school math class.

She sighs. There’s no way she’s going to be able to focus on the lecture now. Giving up all pretense, she tosses her pen down and leans back in her chair.

Watching Dr. Charles Eppes in his natural environment is always fun, and for once, she’s going to enjoy the show.

...continued...


	2. Chapter 2

~o~

"I can also recommend some mathematicians at respected institutions around the country who would be willing to lend their talents to your teams, should you be interested in exploring this further in the field," Charlie says, wrapping up his ninety-minute lecture neatly. "Thank you for your time."

Chairs scrape the floor as the group rises nearly as one. Charlie waits at the front of the class, where he’s approached by several people with more questions. The crush of agents obscures his view, and he loses sight of Liz in the crowd. He hopes she isn’t planning on ducking out without at least saying hello.

He'd been surprised to see her trying to sneak into the class just as he was settling in to start his lecture. The request to substitute had come so late that he hadn't been given a class roster or even an idea of what to say but simply told to "come up with something". Thankfully, he'd presented on a similar topic some years ago in Sacramento, and was able to unearth his notes with relative ease. Which didn't change the fact that he felt woefully unprepared. It wasn't how he usually did things, but he'd tried to adapt as well as he could.

Still, it had been a shock to the system—a pleasant one—to see a familiar face at the back of the room. He's kept in touch with Larry and Otto in the two years he’s been gone, and his dad is always a fount of information on the goings-on in LA, but seeing a familiar face is like a balm to his wounded soul. He hadn't realized just how much he missed his life in LA until he'd seen her face at the back of the room.

At one point, he notices her scanning the crowd, seeing it the same way he does: the slackers who are only here because they’re being forced to take the class, the ones who think they might be able to get something useful out of the knowledge, and the groupies, because no matter where he goes, there are always groupies.

Finally, the crowd begins to thin out as people move on to other lectures or run out of questions. He takes a deep breath and begins to gather his notes together. It’s always hard to lecture to non-math people. He has to strip out so much of what makes math beautiful in order to make it accessible to people who don’t understand it as well as he does. Still, the lure of passing on his love of math is always too much to ignore, and so he'd agreed to sub for the original presenter.

"Fancy meeting you here, Professor."

His head pops up, his smile huge as he realizes that Liz hadn't bailed. "What, meeting me in a math lecture? Last place you'd find me."

"I'm guessing this was a last-minute change," she says, smiling back.

"Dr. Hall has appendicitis," Charlie says, shrugging. "Rather than cancel the lecture, they called me."

"Ouch," she says, cringing. "Still, I'm surprised you came all the way from Cambridge to do this. Couldn’t they find someone closer? Or did you just miss the States too much?"

Pain flashes through him, despite her teasing words. "I wasn't in Cambridge."

"Sounds like there's a story there," she says, sympathy in her voice.

"Yeah," he says. He runs a hand through his hair.

"Look, I shouldn't have pried," she says.

"No, it's okay." He sighs. "It's just… I haven't talked about it much. Since it happened."

"And 'it' is?"

"Divorce." 

The word hangs there in the air between them, encompassing all his pain and feelings of failure in one, neat term. It isn’t like he hadn't seen it coming. Six months in and Amita was thriving in her new environment. She'd found the place where she belonged, and thrown herself into it, leaving Charlie on the outside looking in for the first time in his career. He couldn't begrudge her the success, because she'd willingly lived in his shadow for so long, but it still stung. 

So it was no surprise that, six months ago, they'd agreed to divorce. Their marriage—built on a love of math and not much else—had simply broken under the strain.

"I'm so sorry, Charlie," Liz says, reaching out and squeezing his arm. "Are you doing okay?"

"It's a work in progress," he says, hedging a bit. "But enough about me. Tell me about you. What are you doing in DC? The last I'd heard, you were still with the team in LA."

"I'm still in LA," she confirms. "The SAC finally promoted me, so I'm heading Violent Crimes now."

"Congratulations," he says, smiling as he pulls her into a hug.

"Thanks," she says when he pulls back. "I'm actually here doing the last of my training before I'm officially promoted."

"And you thought you'd take in the 'math lecture'?"

She blushes. "I thought it'd look good on my CV. It's not like I don't know what it's like, using math to solve crimes, but I thought I'd see what this guy had to say."

Charlie chuckles. He's often wished that the FBI was as enthusiastic about using math as his brother's old team. And while the Bureau is warming up to the idea, thanks in no small part to the work he's done with Don's team, it’s still an uphill battle on some days.

"So, are you staying close by?" she asks, drawing his attention back to her.

"I'm at the Hilton," he says, nodding. "You?"

"Me, too," she says, smiling. "Beats staying in the BOQ at Quantico."

"Listen, you want to get some dinner?" he asks. It’s so nice, so _normal_ , talking to someone he considers a friend that he doesn’t want to give it up just yet.

"Sure, that'd be nice."

Her smile warms his heart. "Great! There's this little Chinese place—"

"Wong's on the Hudson," she says, her smile growing. "I know the place. You about done here?"

"Just let me finish packing up, and we can go."

He can’t stop the grin spreading over his face if he tried. Little had he known when he'd agreed to take this lecture that his day would end this well.

...continued...


	3. Chapter 3

~o~

They're sprawled out on Liz's hotel room bed, digging in to the Chinese like two starving wolverines. Liz has been regaling Charlie with stories from her new team for the last hour, ever since they left Quantico.

"So, there's Watson, dripping all over the carpet," she's saying, barely holding back the laughter, "and Colby's got this scowl on his face because Watson rode out with Colby, so now his car's all wet."

"Oh, God," Charlie says, chuckling. "I mean, not like those cars are all that great to begin with, but once the upholstery gets wet…"

"Which was Colby's point," she says. "That car's bad enough. Add soggy upholstery and it gets nasty."

"What'd Watson say?"

"That he thought the suspect was going to zig. Turns out he zagged."

Charlie laughs again, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. "The joys of breaking in a new team member."

"He's a good agent," Liz says, perfectly serious despite the humor of the moment. "A little too eager to impress sometimes, but I figure I'd rather have a guy who's willing to work hard than a guy who thinks he's got it all figured out."

She'd liked Tom Watson almost immediately on meeting him. Sure, he was green, and more like an over-eager puppy than an FBI Special Agent, but he was eager to learn and had instincts you just couldn't teach in a classroom. She’s willing to take a lot of flak for the mistakes he’ll inevitably make as he learns the job because she knows he's going to turn out to be a great agent one day, and she's willing to endure the growing pains just to have him on her team when he finally grows up.

"So, what's it like, being the Supervisory Agent?"

Liz licks her fingers, setting aside the Kung Pao Chicken and leaning back against the headboard. "It's a lot harder than I thought it'd be. I mean, Don made it look so easy, but there's a lot I didn't realize he did for us because he was doing it quietly. Filing reports, running interference, working the budget. It's amazing what's involved that has absolutely nothing to do with actually catching criminals."

"Do you regret taking the job?" he asks.

"No," she answers quickly. It's an easy answer because she knows this is what she's wanted to do from the moment she graduated from the Academy. "If I'm ever going to run my own Field Office, this is where I have to start."

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you'll make a good Special Agent in Charge," he says.

"Thanks, Charlie," she says, glowing under the compliment. "I just wish it didn't come with all this training. I can only imagine what the guys are getting up to while I'm gone."

"You guys never screwed around too much whenever Don had to be away," he points out. "They're professionals. They can handle the boss being away for a few days."

"True," she concedes. 

"So, what else?" he asks to fill the silence. "Seeing anybody?"

Her eyes shoot to his where he's settled next to her, leaning against the headboard. "No, not seeing anybody."

He frowns. "Why not?"

She shrugs. She could lie, pretend that her life is normal or that she's got guys banging down the door. Or, she could just tell the truth. She thinks Charlie can tell the difference, and she's not one to lie to friends.

"I guess I just haven't found anyone worth my time." She pauses. "I always had a huge crush on you, you know."

"Me?" he asks, clearly surprised.

"What, you don't think a simple girl like me could find a guy like you attractive?"

"No. No, no, no," he says, stuttering as he repeats himself. "It's just, I guess I always thought a woman like you was out of my league."

"I think you have that backwards, Charlie," she says.

"Not really," he mumbles. She raises her eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. It's his turn to shrug. "Most women don't get me. All they see are the numbers, and they think that's all I'm about. ‘The math nerd.’"

"But that's not everything you are," she says. "You play a mean game of pick-up basketball, and there's the whole hiking and rock climbing thing. Plus, you have really good taste in music. You kick ass at chess. And you're not afraid to get in the kitchen and at least try to cook. I don't know too many guys who willingly go into a kitchen unless it's to grab another beer."

Charlie blushes. "I didn't think you'd noticed."

"Crush, remember?"

He picks up her hand, playing with her fingers before lacing his between hers. "With Amita, I always thought we should be able to find something besides math in common, but we always struggled with that. It was like, when we looked at each other, all we could see were the numbers. I didn’t know what her favorite song was, or what she liked to eat on a Sunday afternoon. I don't know if it was just because I didn't care enough to find out, or if it was because I didn't think about her as anything more than a fellow mathematician."

"It's hard, sometimes, to see beyond what we expect people to be," she says quietly.

"But you see me," he says, kissing her hand, drawing a soft gasp from her. "Why is that?"

"Because I want to."

She leans in, closing the scant distance between them and brushes her lips over his. When she pulls back, he's grinning, like a boy who's gotten his first baseball glove. Or, in Charlie's case, his first math textbook.

The silence spins out between them. Their heads are close, foreheads almost touching, and Liz can feel the heat radiating off of Charlie. She thinks it ought to be harder than this. They know each other too well, have seen each other at their best and worst. But somehow that just makes it all make sense. 

Charlie's passionate about math, in a way few people are passionate about anything. It's what makes him so appealing, but it's more than that. She's always admired his dedication. He never had to pull all-nighters to help them catch the latest stellar example of why they build prisons, never had to spend all his free time running equations and crunching numbers. But he does, because it matters to him. 

Family matters to him, and friends, and Sundays off, and a good steak. She knows these things about him, they're the things that make him who he is, that make her appreciate him. And suddenly, she wants him to appreciate her, too.

...continued...


	4. Chapter 4

~o~

In all his life, Charlie’s never wanted anything more than he wants Liz right now. 

He wonders why it’s happening now and not two years ago when they were both in LA. Except that when they were both in LA, there was a lot of baggage getting in the way. Amita. Don. The FBI. Their lives on two different tracks.

He quickly shakes off those thoughts. They’re thoughts for another time, when he has more time to think. Right now, the only thing he wants to do is breathe her in, all of her. Surround himself with her and drown.

Levering himself up onto his knees, he takes her hands and tugs her upright so she’s kneeling in front of him. He winds his arms around her, pulling her flush so she can feel just how much he wants this. 

She gasps, and he can’t stop the smug little smile that crosses his face.

"Think you’re some hot stuff there, do you, Professor?"

Her sass is ruined by the almost breathless quality of her words. He could call her on it, but he doesn’t.

"Tell me you don’t want this," he says instead.

She shakes her head. "Even if I could, I wouldn’t."

They’ll be going back to their lives tomorrow, her to LA and him back to his guest lecturing gig at Princeton. But just for tonight, he wants to know what it feels like to belong to someone, wholly and completely.

That thought startles him. He looks deep into her eyes, seeing all the longing she’s stored up for him. He can feel it welling up in his chest, an answering longing he didn’t know was there until this moment.

Suddenly, he’s crushing her lips to his, asking no quarter and giving none. His tongue sweeps through her mouth, and everywhere they’re making contact, it’s lighting him on fire. He slides his hands down to her ass, pulling her tightly to him as he grinds into her in time with the stroke of his tongue. The sounds she’s making shoot sparks down his spine.

He needs to see her, touch her, like he needs air to breathe. Pulling back, breathless and wanting, he proceeds to strip her clothes off, one article at a time, exposing all of her to his eyes. Her t-shirt and yoga pants weren’t hiding much, but he still feels the thrill at seeing her bare.

He dances his fingers all along her skin, drawing squirms and moans and cries of pleasure out of her. He can feel himself getting harder with each reaction to his touch. He knows he won’t last much longer, but he doesn’t want to give up the game just yet. He needs to know what it’ll take to get her to cry out his name.

"This is hardly fair," she gasps out.

"What?" he asks, pulling back slightly. He’s pressing her into the mattress, his whole body pressing against hers, creating lovely friction along every point of contact.

"You’re still dressed."

He grins. "Yes, I am. Care to do something about that?"

He pushes up onto his hands and knees, giving her just enough room to maneuver. She quickly and efficiently strips his t-shirt off before reaching for the waistband of his sweats. He’s glad he decided to change into more comfortable clothes before joining her for dinner in her room. He can only imagine how uncomfortable he’d have been had he still been wearing his suit. Not that he’s not plenty uncomfortable now, but in a moment that won’t matter.

Rolling over onto his back, he raises his hips as she slides his sweat pants and boxers off. And now it’s her who’s exploring his body, teasing, tasting, drawing him ever closer to the edge. But it isn’t until she closes her lips around his cock that he realizes he’s about a microsecond away from coming, and he doesn’t want to do that anywhere but buried deep inside her.

He reaches down, tugging her up his body until she’s flush against him, a mirror of their position just a few moments ago. He kisses her deeply, slowing them down, ratcheting down the need to a dull roar in his ears.

"I need to be inside you," he gasps out, the puffs of air his words create making her shiver.

When she pulls back, he can see the answering need in her eyes. But instead of rolling off him, she impales herself on him in one smooth move, drawing a shout out of him that he’s sure everyone on three floors heard.

He reaches up, freeing her hair from its pony-tail prison, letting it fall around them like a halo. He watches her breathe through the moment, aware now only of his own need and the desire he can see burning bright in her eyes. He runs a hand up into her hair, cupping her head as he brings it down to his, kissing her long and deep as she starts gently rolling her hips, squeezing him tightly with every shift.

When she finally pulls back, she picks up a fast rhythm, grinding down onto him with abandon as her hair dances around her shoulders, teasing the tips of her breasts and making the breath catch in his throat. He meets her stroke for stroke, planting his feet on the bed in order to get the right leverage. He thinks she’s beautiful, skin sweat-slicked, eyes bright as she undulates above him, and he wonders for a brief moment why it was never this good with Amita. 

Shaking off thoughts of his ex-wife, he redoubles his efforts, his thumb unerringly finding her clit as he works her body like the fine-tuned instrument it is. Soon enough, she’s screaming out his name, collapsing above him as her orgasm rips through her. Just the sound of his name on her lips sends him crashing over the edge, his rhythm stuttering as he spends himself within her.

They’re both gasping for air, the room cool around them now that they’re not creating their own heat. She’s limp and pliant, and he maneuvers them under the covers before they get chilled.

"Mmmm," she says. "Don’t want to move."

"Well, it is your bed," he says, chuckling.

"Don’t want you to move, either."

He chuckles again, dropping a kiss on her head. "Wasn’t planning to."

"Good," she says as she snuggles deeper into his embrace.

He can feel her breathing even out as she drifts off into slumber. He could never have imagined his day ending like this, but he’s not going to complain. He doesn’t know what this is, if it’s just two people finding solace in each other or if it’s the start of something more. But he’s willing to put those questions aside until the morning, if only so he can enjoy having her in his arms for a few hours.

He wonders if Don would be jealous, then decides that he doesn’t care. He’s here with Liz now, and that’s all that really matters to him.

...continued...


	5. Chapter 5

~o~

The morning sun filters in through the blinds, casting shadows as the light crawls across the floor. Liz stretches, feeling the lethargy of a sex-fueled night all the way down to her bones.

She opens her eyes to see Charlie, still curled against her, his arm cradling her protectively as she lays snuggled into his side. They’ve hardly moved all night, except when they woke for more sex. She smiles at the memory. She hadn’t expected it, but Charlie is an imaginative lover, and she can see herself never getting bored with him.

But thoughts of the future bring her up short. She has no idea what’s going on with him, despite the fact that they did actually spend some time talking last night. She worries that this is just a fleeting thing for him, a one-night distraction and that he’ll go back to his life and forget all about her come tomorrow.

"Stop thinking," he mumbles sleepily, interrupting her spiraling thoughts.

She gapes at him for a long moment. "How did you know?"

He pops one eye open. "I can hear you thinking. Stop."

She sighs, settling down into his arms again. But try as she might, she can’t really stop the thoughts swirling in her head. She’s done one-night stands before, so this shouldn’t be any different. Except that this is Charlie, and silly as it sounds now, she’d hoped that her chance with him wouldn’t involve marathon sex and a stilted goodbye.

"We’re going to have to talk about this, aren’t we?" he asks, once again breaking into her thoughts, his gravelly, sleep-rough voice sending tingles up her spine.

"No," she says, rushing to reassure him. The last thing she wants to do is put pressure on him. Not after everything he’s been through. "It’s okay, Charlie. We don’t have to talk. I’ll be fine."

"All the more reason to talk," he says, the morning growl banished now.

She cringes. She didn’t want to wake him up and force emotional baggage on him at— _dear God in heaven, it’s barely six AM_ , she thinks, glancing at the clock. But he’s pushing himself up against the headboard, drawing her with him. She recognizes that determined look on his face. She’s seen it often enough on Don’s face to know what it means: he’s not letting go until they settle things. Of course, with Don it was always case related. The man avoided dealing with emotions like most people avoid the DMV. But Charlie, it seems, is a different animal altogether.

"Now, what’s got your brain working overtime at this ungodly hour?" he asks sweetly. When she doesn’t say anything, he cups her cheek with his hand and kisses her gently. "Come on, I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong."

"It’s just—" She breaks off, unsure how to ask. She’s never dealt with _this_ Charlie before, so it’s a little unnerving. _This_ Charlie is emotionally engaged, sexy, playful. So unlike the Charlie she remembers back in LA. And yet, it’s still him, and God help her, she still wants him.

"You want to know what happens now, don’t you?" he asks, in a freaky moment of insight that she hadn’t known he was capable of.

"Yeah," she says on a sigh. "I don’t want to be that girl, the one who won’t let the guy go without—but I just—I need to know."

It’s messy and convoluted, and she realizes she hasn’t finished a sentence in a while, but somehow he seems to understand anyway.

"I’m guest-lecturing at Princeton through the end of the semester," he says. He pulls her in close, dropping a kiss onto her head. "They want me to stay another semester, but I haven’t decided whether I’m going to accept."

"Do you want to?"

He shrugs. "I don’t know. Part of me recognizes that I’m hiding out here. I don’t have to face reproval if I don’t go back to LA—"

"But you know none of us will judge, Charlie," she breaks in, levering herself up onto an elbow to look him in the eye. "Nobody’s perfect. And we’d all be there to support you."

She blushes, looking away before settling back down at his side. She’s aware of the desperate quality of her voice, and hates it. She hates that she’s selfish enough to want him to come back to LA just for her. It’s not fair to him, but she can’t help herself.

"CalSci sent me a letter last week," he says quietly. "My leave of absence is almost up and they want to know if I’d be interested in returning to chair the Math department."

She bites her tongue—literally—as she tries like mad to keep her opinion to herself. He’s not stupid; she thinks he’s aware of how much she’d like it if he came home. 

"Maybe I just didn’t have a good enough reason to come home before now," he says. It’s an eerie echo of her own thoughts, but she still feels the need to give him an out.

"You don’t have to, you know." She takes a deep breath. "Nothing says you have to come back to LA. If you’re happy at Princeton—"

"I don’t think I am," he says, interrupting her. "I took the Princeton offer because I didn’t want to stay in Cambridge after—well, you know. But I didn’t feel like I could go back to CalSci yet, either. Maybe it’s time."

"Don’t do this for me," she whispers.

He hugs her close, dropping another kiss into her hair. "Doing it for you is a good reason. Wanting to be with you is a good reason, and it’s better than the reason I’d be staying at Princeton."

"Yeah?" she asks, a tendril of hope curling into her voice.

He chuckles. "Yeah. It’ll take some doing, but I can be home by the end of summer. Will that work for you?"

She levers herself up again, looking him square in the eyes. "I’m not asking you to. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for."

"I know," he says, smiling. He cups her cheek, pulling her to him for a sweet, gentle kiss. "But I want to do it anyway. I want to come home. And now I have a reason to."

Her smile is radiant as she leans in and kisses him again, putting all of her joy and gratitude into the kiss. When she pulls back, she snuggles down into his side, giving a contented sigh. 

"Now that that’s settled, can we get some more sleep?" he asks petulantly.

"Maybe," she says coyly. She buries her face in his chest, embarrassed by how girly she’s gotten in the last day, then decides to throw caution to the wind. It’s gotten her this far. "I thought maybe we could have some more of that really good sex we’ve been having."

"Sleep first, then sex," Charlie declares. 

She laughs out loud. "Some things never change."

"You expected them to?"

She shakes her head, eyes sparkling as she looks up to meet his. He’s happy, she can see it in his face. The frown is gone, as are the worry lines. He’s relaxed, more carefree than he was yesterday. She’s glad she had even a small part of that.

"No, Charlie," she says, shaking her head. She pushes up and drops a chaste kiss on his lips. "I’m just glad I ran into you."

"Mmmm," he says as he closes his eyes, ready to drift off once again. "Me, too."

She smiles as she closes her own eyes, preparing to follow him into slumber. She’s very glad she found him, and even more glad that they seem to finally be on the same page. 

She suppresses a giggle as that old playground taunt flits through her mind as she drifts off.

Finders, keepers indeed.

~Finis

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who aren't total history junkies, Dr Lyman Hall was the delegate from Georgia to the Second Continental Congress, and was a signer of the Declaration of Independence. He was a medical doctor, not a scientist, but at the time I was writing this, his name kept popping into my brain, so that's the name I used.


End file.
